


that  dog in the sky that brings the dawn

by mikkal



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Reconciliation, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-08 05:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17380853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkal/pseuds/mikkal
Summary: Noct isn't the only one Umbra brings to the past.A proper goodbye, with the sun in the sky and a suspended moment in time.





	that  dog in the sky that brings the dawn

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. ….I don't even know what this is.
> 
> 2\. oh hey! I finally got to play the game because I got the Royal Edition AND a PS4 for Christmas. I finished it at level 84 in two weeks and I'm drowning in ideas. so instead of working on my bad things happen bingo, I've got this one instead! Hope you enjoy!

Ignis wakes first, because that’s just how it is. The sun barely cracks over the horizon when he opens his eyes, staring dazed at the ceiling of their Coleman tent. Everything is so muzzy, even more so than normal without his glasses. He can hear Gladiolus snoring next to him, as loud as ever. Prompto is much quieter, more of a snuffle. Noctis is silent, still.

He moves without realizing, leaning over Prompto—who he swears fell asleep on the other side of the tent last night—and presses a hand against his prince’s chest, feeling the tell-tale rise and fall of his chest. Something wells up to root deep into his heart, grief and relief, a dawning hope he wishes isn’t a joke. Noct’s eyelashes flutter in his sleep as he twists, curling around Ignis’ hand.

The sigh that rushes out of him leaves him boneless, hunched over Noct as he dreams. Ignis doesn’t know what he expected. Blood. Stillness. Death clinging to him as tightly as it’s clung to the rest of his lineage. A myriad of things from his nightmares.

There’s none of that, and that makes him willing to walk away, even for a moment.

Ignis carefully frees his hand, smiling softly when Noct grumbles a soft protest, and leaves the tent in time to see the sun flash over the southern mountains of Duscae. He flinches and shields his eyes against the dawn. The garula nearby wake with snorts and their strange, high-pitched squeals, wandering from the shade of a nearby rundown building.

Breakfast is an easy affair. He finds the makings for oatmeal, dried blueberries and almonds and cinnamon waiting for him in the ether. He pushes around Zu beaks and Jabberwock sirloin, grabs the honey to enhance the sweetness of the fruit. The oatmeal cooks as he hums, stirring every now and then to keep it from burning or boiling over.

Prompto wakes up next, it’s usually a toss up of who exactly wakes first between him and Gladio. More often than not it’s Gladio, Prompto’s insomnia being painfully ironic at any time. Blonde hair, tousled and in disarray, pops out of the tent, wide blue eyes watch Ignis in shock. He scrambles out, still wearing his sleep wear, something wild about his expression.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Prompto hisses, fingers curling in the air as if to summon his gun. He takes in their surroundings, the soft sounds of morning and the distant hum of the pylons, squints into the sunlight with a flicker of pain across his face. He turns to Ignis, pleading. “Iggy, _what_ —?”

Ignis ladles some oatmeal into a bowl, offers it and a spoon to Prompto without a word. The gunner takes it automatically, walking in an astonished daze to one of the unfolded chairs. He sits down heavily, tilting the chair dangerously far back before it rights itself, and then eats his breakfast slowly. He doesn’t seem to mind Ignis never answered him. Which Ignis is relieved about, since he doesn’t really know either.

Gladio’s waking is less…contained. He stumbles onto the rock of the haven’s surface, the blue carvings seemingly bright even in the daylight, and he summons Hyperion in a burst of angry blue crystals, instantly on edge. He doesn’t see Ignis or Prompto at first, stalking to the edge of the haven, around the perimeter, like a coeurl that’s caught the scent of something unwanted in its territory. The other two are deemed safe, even if he never once glances at them.

It’s not until he’s walked the circle twice that he twists to stare at the blinding sun,   just as mesmerized as the other two. “What just happened?” he asks, voice hoarse and gruff.

Ignis presses his lips into a thin line, makes two more bowls—one with extra blueberries—and tries not to think about how bright everything seems, how clear and gorgeous. How _young_ Prompto is. How _tired_ Gladio looks. He doesn’t think they’re very far into their journey, but he can’t tell when or where, they have everything in their inventory. He can’t look over to the road for the Regalia since they tended to travel far and wide on their feet or chocobos alone.

He has no idea what’s going on.

Gladio gets the bowl with the extra blueberries. They sit in silence around the soft haven smoke, eating mechanically. There’s a sun. There’s Noct, asleep in the tent. Ignis can see to the horizon, the creases in his palm, the shadows under Prompto’s eyes, the detail of Gladio’s scars. He may not know what they look like ten years from now, but in this moment, he savors the mess of Prompto’s hair and the sight of Gladio sprawled out in his chair.

“Iggy,” Prompto starts softly, breaking the fragile silence. The three of them haven’t been alone like this in a long time. “You…you can see, right?” Ignis swallows thickly, his spoon weighing heavily in his grip. “I know it’s a dumb question,” he rushes to say, sounding all of twenty instead of his actual thirty years. “But I…I just need to hear you say it? Does that make sense?”

He nods, really just a dip of his chin. It’s enough for Prompto’s mouth to literally click shut. “I can,” he says, barely more than a whisper. Easily his voice could be lost in the breeze. “I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But, somehow, we’ve been brought back in time.”

Prompto bows over his lap, cradling his bowl to his chest, and chokes on a sob. “Noct’s not dead.” They had been silent during that last campfire, the one that felt like only last night, but, really, they were all breaking inside when Noct told them his fate, his resolution that was crumbling at the very sight of them.

“Yet,” Gladio chooses to say, expression pinched in pain. “He has a duty to fulfill. Something more than all of us. We can’t stay here.”

Their gunner leaps to his feet. The bowl and spoon clang to the ground, the spoon spinning off over the edge of the haven. “Bull _shit_!” he cries. “Noct’s not some sort of pawn for the Astrals to shove their mistakes on. He’s a person. He doesn’t deserve to die, not like this.” Tears shine his eyes, emotions blotch his cheeks. He’s never been a pretty crier. “Maybe this is our chance to change something!”

“We don’t even know _when_ we are,” Ignis points out, feeling tired all of a sudden. He slouches in his chair uncharacteristically, stares at the remnants of oatmeal in his bowl. Oh, he missed a blueberry. “And since we have no idea how we’ve come back, who says we can change anything?”

Prompto drops back down, his strings cut violently. He watches the haven’s magic curl through the wind, rising steadily and consistent despite everything. “It’s not fair,” he mumbles.

“Never said it was,” Gladio replies, voice tight. His own eyes have a bit of a shine to them. “Never said this was fair, Prompto. But we can’t leave all those people to darkness and daemons.”

“No, we can’t,” Ignis says. “And Noct would say the same thing.”

It’s then that Noctis chooses to wake. He’s still in a loose tee-shirt and lounge pants, stumbling out of the tent with a yawn and rubbing his eyes. He squints at the sun like they all did, his hair fluffier without gel and with pillow styling. Without so much as a ‘good morning,’ he prepares his own bowl of breakfast, pants catching on his heels. It’s painfully endearing, watching him stumble around. It hurts Ignis’ chest. If he thought Prompto young, then he’s not sure what to think about Noctis.

Noctis with the Ring of Lucii around his finger and an otherworldly light to his eyes that was never there before he reappeared from the Crystal.

He sits in the last chair, takes a bite of his food, and sighs. “Hey,” he says around the spoon, finally looking up. There’s a violet tinge around his pupils, one eye stained more than the other.

“Hey back,” Prompto says in a crackle. He covers his mouth with both hands.

Noct surveys them carefully. Takes in their tears and despondent demeaner. “Umbra,” he says simply. Perhaps, on any other day, that would explain everything. But forgive Ignis for not firing on all cylinders at the moment. “It’s been a thing, since we made it to Altissia, that Umbra can bring be back to some sort of past for a little while.” He shakes his head, eats another bite. “I always have to go back, though.”

“Why?” is what Gladio asks.

He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he answers. “I think...I think he wants me to tie up loose ends, say good-bye to anyone I might have missed.” He chews on his bottom lip. “I never saw Iris before we left for Insomnia,” he says quietly, guilt heavy in his voice. “I never went to Lestallum for the other glaives or for Holly. Cid, Takka, no one. I left a lot of things unsaid.”

Ignis taps his chin—absently, but Noct immediately stops torturing his lip anyway. “Those dreams you had,” he says finally. “They weren’t dreams.”

“No,” Noct answers truthfully. “I never could change time much. But I could take hunts, get you guys better gear.”

With the effort of trying to recall a dream, the three of them remember different moments when Noct would veer off from their path for an accessory here and a monster there. They fought an entirely too powerful daemon once, a woman corrupted by the scourge, who still held firm to her Death Penalty gun in memory of her old life. That prize had been given to Prompto, of course. They received a Ribbon that Ignis still has wrapped around his wrist, he always vaguely wondered where it came from, and can’t believe he hadn’t remembered until now. Didn’t even question it either. Sania, of all people, paid it to them in thanks for finding her _frogs_.

“It was little things that I hoped would help,” Noct continues, his grip tight around his bowl. “I didn’t know my future then, but I could guess it’d be hard. And, now, you’re here too. I don’t think we’ll be able to do much this time around.”

“Why?” this time Prompto asks.

Noct sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose then rubs his eyes again. When he opens them, they’re more violet than blue with a crimson tinge. “Maybe he thinks there’s a lot unsaid with us?” Noct laughs, it’s bittersweet. “Messengers aren’t exactly the chattiest bunch, or the most straight forward. I mostly just had to…guess my way around.”

Ignis changes the pattern and asks, “How long?”

“Until we fall asleep again.” Noct stands, stretches his back, places his bowl in the bucket they use for dishes. “We’re waiting for Cid to finish up with the boat,” he says, a faraway, unfocused look in his eyes. “Which means we’ve got chocobos.”

He digs into the armory, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, until the chocobo whistle falls into his open hand. He curls his fingers around it triumphantly, grinning brightly.

“The future will wait for us,” he tells them with the whistle resting on his mouth. “It always does. I haven’t seen you guys in ten years, let’s make a day of this. Okay?” They hesitant, Prompto closer to breaking than the others. “For me at least.”

Ignis closes his eyes and sees flashes of Noct on his throne, head weighed heavily by a bloody crown, his father’s sword driven through his chest. Gladio remembers shouting at Noctis to take responsibility and see their journey to the end, and he remembers Noct saying, resolute, that he would.

And here they are, the prelude to the end. If Gladio knew it would go like this, he would’ve kept his damn mouth shut.

So, they make a day of it.

Their chocobos are happy to see them, at least. Prompto sobs into the feathers of his, arms wrapped around her neck. It’s been a long time since they’ve ridden chocobos for fun, it’s not quite the same using the birds to be quick on their feet to get away from the more powerful daemons.

They do favors for Takka that has them all over Lucis, fighting battles so simple it seems like a dream, and bringing back ingredients just to hear him chuckle at Noct’s vegetable complaints. Noct ramps them up, making Ignis smile and getting Gladio snark back. His smile afterwards is fond and loving, and mischievous all the same, the dawn come early without the steep price.

They find injured chocobos for Wiz, search for a black one for him only to find her egg. He promises to call them when it hatches, but chances are they’ll be gone before it happens. They’ll have it as a memory, but somehow, it’s not the same.

What they don’t do, is talk about Noct’s future. Or what they’re going to do when the dawn comes. They don’t talk about Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto’s falling out, even when they fumble just a bit during their first fight, rusty and stepping on each other’s toes. Noct warp-points and takes down beasts with one hit, barely sometimes two, dancing in battle with a grace he only showed hints of before he disappeared.

They laugh, they tease each other. Gladio swings an arm around Noct’s shoulders like he used to, but he pulls him tighter this time, and Noct lets him, leaning into his bulk. Ignis lets his hands linger on his shoulders, on his arm. Prompto musses his hair, slaps his backside. It’s like old times, only better. And worse.

Dave has them search for more dog tags. Cindy adds powerful headlights to the Regalia. Oh, the _Regalia_. They give the chocobos a rest at some point in the late afternoon, when Cindy sends them to the Crown City blockade for those headlights, and they take the car instead.

It’s like coming home. Ignis runs his hands over the roof of her, squeaking his thumb over the frame. Prompto snaps another picture for his collection. Gladio meets the Advisor’s eyes when Noct presses his forehead to the window, eyes closed. They never could retrieve her after everything that happened in Zegnautus Keep, and they added her to their grief when they finally made it home. But for Noct, his father’s car was his second home, and now he’s seeing it for the last time.

If Ignis takes the long way around to the blockade, well, not one calls him out on it.

They do their best to push through the night, sprinting from haven to haven, only taking on daemons they know, but, soon, they’re flagging.

When they make camp at the Lingagh haven again, Prompto’s already crying. Noct sets up no pretenses, he walks straight up to his friend, and pulls him into a tight hug, tucking his face in the juncture of Prompto’s shoulder and neck. They cling to each other, swaying as the horizon starts to lighten for a second dawn.

“It’s not fair,” Prompto says, muffled and thick with tears.

“It’s not,” Noct agrees. “But I can’t leave my people like this.” He pulls him tighter, their knees slowly come together as they slide to the ground. “I have to fulfill my duty.”

Ignis is helpless to his own tears. He wraps his arms around Noct’s middle from behind, presses himself against his back just to feel the comfort of his breathing. If only he was better, just all around _better_. Those tomes and archives he’d spent _years_ searching through should have had the answer, _they had to_. And he would’ve found it, if he had just been better. He buries his face into Noct’s spine, lips pressed together into a white line, eyes burning.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Noct’s next breath is exaggeratedly large. “Don’t be.”

Gladio places a large hand on the crown of Noct’s head and kneels stiffly. Noct looks up, eyes wide and mostly crimson, and shining bright in the haven’s light. Tears slip down his cheeks, dripping off his head into Prompto’s hair. His hair curls along his jaw and Gladio sees a kid in his place, sullen and lonely, limping in pain that hadn’t yet faded even though it’d been years, yet still trying to push himself to be the best he could be.

“I’m sorry,” Gladio says, words saddled with guilt that had been allowed to fester for years. “For everything.” For letting duty get in the way, for letting the words sound unforgiving, for pushing too hard. For everything undeserved.

Noctis smiles something small, tilts his head so his cheeks rests in Prom’s hair. “I know,” he whispers. “There’s nothing to forgive, but I know.” And that’s what their king is, ever forgiving. That’s how Noct’s always been. A little too quick to anger, but also quick to cool down and forgive, and then forget.

Gladio bows his head, then bows at his wait, curling over all of them like a shield. The sky is bright now, a washed with colors of the dawn that leads to a new day.

“One last picture?” Noct asks.

It’s taken with the mountains and the Disc in the background, the sun fully over the horizon but not nearly high enough to no longer be dawn. Noctis stands alone in the middle, the edges of the tent barely past frame and the wood of the haven’s fire just visible. The next one is all four of them, no one doing a silly pose or pulling someone into a headlock. Soft smiles, tears in their eyes, standing close to Noctis as his friends and brothers.

When they wake up to darkness and daemons, Insomnia looming in front of them and the bright future looking grim, Prompto scrambles for his camera, flipping through his case for the right memory card. It’s there, bright and gold, a beacon in the dark.

The picture of all four of them, is the one Noctis takes with him when he finally ascends the throne.


End file.
